


Something Broken

by Zagzagael



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:43:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zagzagael/pseuds/Zagzagael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Broken

"I get it. Really, I do. She was beautiful, Sam, she was your girl. And I get that this pain is not going to go away. Its bullshit if someone tells you it will. It won't and it doesn't. It never gets better it just gets....I dunno, easier. You stop carrying it on your back like a fucking body, you tuck it inside where it still hurts, but it changes. It becomes who you are not what you are." Dean stopped talking. Words breaking inside his mouth like teeth, wanting to say more, wanting to steel his voice and tell his brother _'it's time, right now, take this to its next stage, move out of this place of darkness and pain, and move on up into the light'._ He wanted to give Sam the sun, cast him into the light, wanted to reach his hand down into the valley Sam was walking alone and pull him out, but instead he crossed his arms over his chest, fingertips digging in the soft spots between his rib bones, clamped his lips shut and stayed true to the path of gravel he was following around and around the table.

Sam rocked forward on the picnic table, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. He swallowed hard, once, twice, and looked up at Dean pacing in front of him. "That shouldn't make sense, but it does. _'It becomes who you are not what you are.'_ It feels like that, Dean."

Dean stopped, balanced on his heels nervously, watching his brother from under his lowered lashes. He had managed to finally say something Sam could hear, could understand. Months of throwing words and looks over tabletops, sideways across the front seat of the Impala, into the divide between ratty motel doubles, gestures and sarcastic commentary garnering exasperation and rolled eyes and even outrage. But somehow, someway, finally, he had reached deeper, mined the gold words Sam had been searching for, held them out, shining and poured them into Sam's hand.

Sam straightened his back, rubbing the heels of his hands against both eyes, looking out across the silent city park, night easing into the edges of it. "You know, she was beautiful. I'm not blind. She was. But she was really," he shook his head, "this sounds so stupid, but she was beautiful on the inside. And she made our relationship beautiful."

Dean nodded. "I could see that, too."

A long silence twisted between them.

"I needed that, Dean," Sam whispered.

"What? You needed what, exactly?"

"My life to be beautiful. The edges of the world softened. Until Jess, I didn't know how soft girls are...."

Dean snorted laughter but it was outlined in pain. "Girls are soft, buddy."

Sam scowled. "Thanks. I mean, how they make everything else soft." He shrugged, finger-combing his bangs out of his face. "At least Jess did. For me."

Dean uncrossed his arms, flexed his fingers. "That sounds good and all, but hell, it also sounds like terrible." _Liar liar liar._ "I mean, needing someone to shield you from what's under the bed, in the closet. That is so not for me. I don't want that." Aching. His brain and heart were suddenly welded together with an aching bead of longing and that longing hurt. "It sounds like a mommy thing." He held up a quick, warning hand.  "I'm not trying to piss you off, Sam, just trying to feel this thing out. And you're still looking for that?"

"I don't know. I don't know much of anything anymore, Dean. It was good. I could forget. Hell, I did forget, for years, like she was some kind of protective amulet....I felt safe. And yeah, I can see how you might think it was a mommy thing. Maybe I need a mother. Maybe we both need a mother, Dean."

He shook his head, looking over Sam's shoulder, into the shadows of a small copse of trees far in the distance. Glancing back to where the Impala was parked on the edge of the asphalt. "Yeah? You don't feel safe now."

"No, Dean. I don't feel safe. I don't feel whole. I feel torn open, gutted, laid out. All the edges are sharp and hard and everything wants to cut me, or you. Cut you. I've pretty much given up on finding Dad and I don't think finding him is going to change things anyway."

"Not going to make anything soft, that much is true."

Sam laughed and it was so hollow a sound, Dean could hear the echoes of something else inside it. "I know that. God damn, I know that. But I would like to stop feeling as though someone has handed me a live grenade with the pin pulled and I've got to hold onto it or else...I wanted to believe that Dad would know how to deal with that. That feeling. I can't shake it, Dean."

Another silence turned. Seconds becoming minutes.

"Can we get outta here, Sammy? Find a hotel and crash? I need a beer or six."

Sam climbed to his feet, brushing at his jeans, heading towards the car. Dean fell into step beside him, at his shoulder. His hands trembled to reach out, the muscles in his arms and shoulders tremored towards embracing. He turned his face away and told himself he was watching the shadowed edges of the park for anything that could threaten his brother.

~***~

He could fix broken things, mechanical things, things made of metal, but this broken Sam was so unfamiliar, so horrifying. He had no tools, no manual, no direction. It was the experience of seeing, feeling, a wild animal pulled under the wheels of the Impala, doubling back and finding it struggling in its own blood and bile, crawling out of its skin, away from its shattered bones. Eyes rolling, voice silenced. Pain, pain, death, creeping ugly brokenness. Wanting to toe it off the hot road and onto the cool shoulder, wanting to run away, wanting to sit on the edge of the pavement and cradle the creature for its last few moments. Wanting and wanting. But instead, bending low, pressing the muzzle of the 9mm against the skull, not imagining the animal's eyes closing in gratitude but really seeing them close in gratitude. Squeezing the trigger, saying _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry._

He was seated in the uncomfortable motel chair, sucking back beers, playing mental games in which the reward was glancing over to watch Sam sleep. Waiting for his inevitable descent into the place of nightmares, tonight was going to be different, tonight he was going to wade into the maelstrom of his brother's dreams and wrestle with all the demons that dared torment him.

He finished the four beers and wished he had bought a case. He got up and retrieved the bottle Sam had been nursing before setting it on the bedside table and lying down. Half full, he tipped it up and swallowed it down. Then he sat on the edge of his own bed, watching Sam sleep, waiting.

It took an hour for the nightmare to find Sam, Dean watched it happen. Hands twitching into fists, curling into his chest, knees pulled up, a foetal helplessness. His face contorting in pain, lips mortising, eyes rolling behind their thin lids. And then the low moan and Dean was up on his feet, moving quickly towards the other bed, down on his knees beside Sam's face, reaching out, gentling him to wakefulness. Calling his name in a low-pitched whisper.

"Sam, Sammy, Sam, wake up, wake up, come on. It's okay. It's okay. I'm here. Right here."

He watched as Sam pulled himself to wakefulness with a groan, a shudder. "Dean?" His eyes opened slowly, gaze fixing and Dean opened himself to the look in his brother's eyes, he did not look away, he did not blink, and he looked into Sam's eyes.

"Let me fix you, Sammy." His voice was ground glass. "Please."

Sam tried to move his hands up to his face, to cover himself, but Dean reached out and circled both wrists and held his hands between their bodies. Shaking his head no.

Sam turned his head away, one, two, three tears breaking over the edge of his eye, dripping down into the whorl of his ear, into his hair. "Fuckin' Dean." Sam was crying. "Don't you get it? It's me who has to fix you."

He fell forward without moving, felt himself falling into a dreamscape that was not the seedy motel room that was not the last four years, that was something else, something entirely different. He saw rather than felt his hands release Sam's wrists, move up to press against his shoulders, fingers ghosting over the bow of bones, his brother's body familiar and yet uncharterd. Unknown. To him. He watched his fingers skim up the long line of Sam's throat, cradle his face, watched Sam shut his eyes slowly, time no longer confining them, both no longer defined by the world that was flashing past them.

"Then fix me, Sammy."

Out of the corners of his eyes, Dean could see the world go by, as though he were in the Impala, Sam beside him, top speed for the old girl, and trees flash flash flashing on either side, outside the closed windows. Inside the car, he and Sam, unmoving, still, holding very, very still.

He closed his eyes, followed the call of his hands on his brother's face, thumbs slipping into the corners of Sam's mouth, the tip of Sam's tongue touching his skin. Electrified, plugged in, breathing into the moment, falling backwards into his own mouth, past his teeth, over his tongue, down his own throat and into the wildly beating chambers of his heart. Sam. Sam. Sam. Sam. Sam. Into his own bloodstream, down his own veins, he swam towards his brother. Bending his arms at the elbows, offering himself, pressing his chest down to meet Sam's body, lifting one leg then the other onto the bed, beside this other man he had known his entire life long, fitting their two male figures one against the other, turning and melding, meshing and finally melting. Kissing Sam, frantic and deeply would come later, for this one moment out of time, lips brushing, a promise whispered in their conjoined voices.

_I promise I promise I love you I promise let me fix you please fix me please._

Inside the dream, Dean made love to his brother and the dream settled into his body, into his mind, filled his heart. He pulled Sam into his arms, held him without thought of release, he was not going to let go. Ever. Broken or fixed.

And later, the dream wrapped around them like a mother's arms and rocked them both to sleep.


End file.
